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She was a brisk, ruddy-skinned creature, with crisp sentences and sturdy legs in thick stockings, and she was taking a keen interest in American sport. "Oh, I say," she greeted Honor, "isn't this bad for your match?" "Yes, Miss Bruce-Drummond, it is. We were hoping for a dry field. They're more used to playing in the mud than we are. But it'll be all right." "I'm fearfully keen about it.
"Ethel," he said to Miss Bruce-Drummond who had met up with them for a week-end at Stirling, "those poor children are so pitifully what Gelett Burgess calls 'the gagged and wordless folk'; it would be so much easier and safer for them if they belonged to his 'caste of the articulate." She nodded. "Yes. It's rather frightful, really, to separate people who have no means of communication.
They found Miss Bruce-Drummond at Zermatt, brown as a berry and hard as nails with her season's work, and she was heartily glad to see Honor. "Well, my dear, fancy finding you here! Your stepfather wrote me you were studying in Florence and I've been meaning to write you. What luck, your turning up now! The friend who came on with me has been called home, and you shall do some climbs with me!"
and the championship, the state championship, stayed south, and it suddenly stopped raining and the sun came out gloriously after the reckless manner of Southern California suns, and everything was for the best in the best of all possible worlds. Honor, star-eyed, more utterly and completely happy and content than she had ever been in her life, turned penitently to Miss Bruce-Drummond.
"And I'll run down to Florence at the Christmas holidays and take her to Rome with me, shall I?" "It will be corking of you, Ethel." "I shall love doing it." He looked at her appreciatively. She would love doing it; she loved life and people, Ethel Bruce-Drummond, and she was able therefore to put life and people, warm and living, on to her pages.
Carter Van Meter drove Honor and Stephen Lorimer and Miss Bruce-Drummond in his newest car and the four of them sat together on the edge of the rooting section. It was still raining a little, teasingly, reluctant to leave off altogether, and the field was a batter of mud. The rooting section of L. A. High was damp but undaunted.
"You know, Stephen," said Miss Bruce-Drummond while they were having their coffee in the living room, "of course you know that both those lads are in love with your nice girl." "Do you see it, too?" She laughed. "I may not know what a 'down' is, but I've still reasonably sharp eyes in my head. And the odd thing is that she doesn't know it." "Isn't it amazing? I'm watching, and wondering."
I shall make it my business to drop in at the fraternity house once or twice next season, when I go north to San Francisco, and into other fraternity houses, and put my ear to the ground. And if I find what I fear to find I'll take it up with both the lads, face to face, and then I'll send for Honor." "Right!" said Miss Bruce-Drummond, her fine, fresh-colored face glowing.
Isn't this weather the deuce?" "Beastly, but it doesn't really matter. We're certain to " she broke off and looked closely at him. "Jimsy, what's the matter?" "Oh ... nothing." "Yes, there is! Come on in the house. There's no one home. Stepper's driving Miss Bruce-Drummond and Muzzie's being marcelled." She did not speak again until they were in the living room. "Now, tell me."
She spoke as if every one should be satisfied then, if they dragged out separate existences until they had attained that hoary age, and Miss Bruce-Drummond, hard on forty-one, grinned with entire good nature. "And I daresay they'll keep you over here all the while, not let you go home for holidays, for fear you might lose your heads and bolt for Gretna Green?" "Mercy, no!"
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